


day five

by NalgeneWhore



Series: Femslash February 2021 [5]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Circus, F/F, Lesbian!Elorcan, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NalgeneWhore/pseuds/NalgeneWhore
Relationships: Fem!Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre
Series: Femslash February 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136669
Kudos: 2





	day five

The  _ stupid  _ beads on her  _ stupid _ headdress dangle over her eyes and Elide angrily bats them away, her other hand white-knuckled in the heavy, ruby-red skirts of her dress. 

She stalks through the circus grounds, anger and hate nearly sparking from her eyes. Because of their cover, Lorcan’s taken to bracing Elide’s ankle constantly, but her gratitude for it and her growing affection for the female cannot placate her now. 

It’s the third night in a row that Elide’s customers at the oracle’s tent have been driven off to see Lorcan’s performance, and Elide has reached her breaking point.

The female is doing it to annoy her, she just knows it. She will not crack and pretends to hate it, pretends to not know that Lorcan craves her attention. 

On the other side of the grounds they’ve claimed is Lorcan’s clearing. The crowd is too thick for Elide to push her way through, so she climbs onto a barrel for a vantage point. 

Lorcan’s hatchet and dagger are gleaming arcs of light as she fights the foolish man who thought he could best her. A line, near a mile long, snakes its way around. Elide doesn’t understand mortal men and their fascination with proving their power over women and females. She marvels at their confidence, when it seems as though Lorcan is hardly breaking a sweat and the bored expression on her harsh face clearly shows that this is nothing but play to her, not even challenging enough to be considered training. 

She whirls and spins, always getting the best of her opponent, who stumbles around after her, trying to get a single hit. 

It’s beautiful, the way Lorcan moves, each move effortless and deliberate. The way her hair shifts like rustling grasses on a flat, open plain, not once getting caught on her opponent’s rusty sword. 

Then, in a flurry of motion that has Elide’s brows lifting and heat rising to her cheeks, Lorcan’s contender is tripped and his back slams into the hard dirt, where wild grasses used to grow. The tip of Lorcan’s hatchet presses into his flabby neck and Elide stares, her eyes glassing over as she watches the vein in his neck pump rapidly with his racing pulse. 

Slowly, she wanders her eyes up the weapon and Lorcan’s arm, tracing the lines of toned muscle visible through the shirt that clings to her sweaty, glowing skin. 

“And the winner is Lorcan!” Nic announces, eagerly stepping forward to triumphantly lift Lorcan’s hand. Unlike before, his eyes don’t stray to the precarious neckline of Lorcan’s open shirt. The still-red slice beneath his left eye is a warning to others, of what will happen should one forget their place. 

The disgust on Lorcan’s face is unmasked and she snatches her hand back, baring her non-human teeth. Wisely, his face paling, Nic steps away, self-consciously lifting his hand to the cruel wound that still smarts. 

Good. 

Lorcan looks elsewhere, possibly to her next challenger, but her eyes slide to Elide. She reads the angered desire in them and smirks, her steps swaggering as she returns to her starting position. 

It’s almost as if she expects Elide to sit and simper like the rest of her adoring public. Elide’s upper lip curls with annoyance and she gets down from the barrel, her skirts dragging on the ground. She glares down at them and lifts them up, wanting to shred them to pieces. 

Instead of doing what she wishes, Elide leaves, her back straight and chin lifted in defiance. 

She returns to her tent, where no one awaits. Hardly anyone is by this end anyway, all drawn to the strongwoman’s show. Elide rips the sign down and aggressively shoves the heavy curtains aside as she stomps inside. 

The first second that she’s alone and hidden from the world, Elide yanks the headdress off and throws it away. She pushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead and sighs, slowly walking to the rickety card table erected in the middle of the tent. 

Elide takes a cloth from the table and walks to the corner, where there is a collection of cushions and pillows to recline against. She remains standing and picks up the pitcher of water. Elide dunks her cloth in it and uses the sodden material to wipe the thick layer of cosmetics from her face. Every evening, Molly and Ombriel insist on pasting it across Elide’s face. She hates how thick it feels on her skin. 

Face cleansed, Elide pulls the pins from her hair, letting the thick tresses, rich and dark like cocoa, fall around her shoulders. She scratches her scalp, easing the pain from her roots. Then, Elide sits, slowly lying down and looking at the candles that surround her. 

She tracks the wax drops falling down the sides, spilling over the cheap candle holders, as she waits for Molly to shout that the carnival has ended. Then, she’ll return to the too-small tent and wait for Lorcan. Neither have ever mentioned how Elide cannot fall asleep until Lorcan’s arrived.

After a few minutes, when Elide has still not heard Molly’s shout, someone shoulders through the tent flaps. She sits up, expecting Ombriel here for the money, but sees Lorcan, bare from the hips up, save for the tight chest wraps she dons every morning. Elide rolls her eyes and says drily, “You know that Molly will be begging you to stay.” 

Lorcan walks until she’s reached the back of the tent and picks up Elide’s water jug. She drinks deeply and accidentally sloshes some of the cool liquid down her chin. Transfixed, Elide watches a bead of water trail down the line of Lorcan’s throat, catching on her collarbone. 

Her cheeks heat again. 

“Nic cannot wait for us to go,” Lorcan counters, putting the jug down and standing above Elide with a hand on her hip. 

Elide rolls her eyes again and crosses her arms, jerking her chin towards the absence of a shirt. “Did you sell your shirt too, then?”

The grin that slices across the death-blessed Fae’s face can only be described as wicked. “Sure did. Got fifteen coppers from a farmer’s wife for it.” 

“That’s disgusting.” 

“What, the fact that it was a woman?” 

“No,” Elide says, narrowing her eyes, “the fact that someone would pay for your sweaty clothes.” 

For some reason, Lorcan takes Elide’s engagement in the conversation as an invitation and sits down, propping up cushions to lean against. She tucks her hands behind her head and shrugs, “Money is money.” 

Elide eyes her, “You don’t seem so…” 

“Irritated?” 

“Murderous.” 

Lorcan hums, “Besting thirty men and having fifteen of their wives offer a spot in their beds does that to a person.” 

Elide digs her nails into her upper arms hard enough to leave crescent marks. She can’t explain the feeling that shakes her body and makes her want to snarl in the face of those women. “Then why aren’t you with them.”

Lorcan surveys the candles, the carpets, the pillows and cushions. Her eyes don’t miss the tight grip of Elide’s hands and something like satisfaction flashes across her gaze. “I do not care for mortal women who like to use me to explore their desires. I am not a… plaything or an experiment.” She smoothly gets to her feet and picks up the cloth Elide discarded earlier. One side is smeared with a white paste of cosmetics, so she flips it and uses it to wipe the grime from her skin. “You know, I heard a great many men tonight speaking of the things they’d like to do to you. Why not have your fun with them?” 

The thought of any man, but especially the ones who leered at her this evening, touching her skin… their bodies on hers… Elide has to fight the shudder that runs through her and the urge to crawl out of her skin. 

She drops her hands into her lap and looks down at them, idly fingering a rip in the cheap fabric that chafes her smooth, creamy skin. “I do not want them.” 

Lorcan retakes her seat, but she’s closer to Elide now. Close enough that Elide can see the hints of smile lines on her cheeks. “Do you prefer women?” 

“No. I do not ‘prefer’ women.” Elide looks up, like recognising like. “I do not care for men. At all. Not in that way.”  _ Hardly in any way. _

“Neither do I,” Lorcan says, her voice almost… soft. 

A small smile twists Elide’s plush lips, “I knew that. You… do not hide it well, if that is what you’re trying to do.” 

Surprisingly, Lorcan laughs. It’s nothing more than a dry chuckle that hisses through her teeth, but it stirs something warm in Elide’s belly. “I suppose I do not. I no longer care to have the patience one needs to deal with them.” 

“Did you ever?” 

“No,” Lorcan laughs, again. 

Elide decides she likes it when Lorcan laughs, and she wants to hear the rasping sound for the rest of her days. Carefully, with fear of rejection, Elide moves closer. Lorcan is silent, her dark eyes tracking Elide with some sort of warmth. 

It’s- it’s too much. Elide looks down again, shifting her skirts. Her ankle is exposed, Lorcan’s magic snugly wrapped around it. She stares at it a moment, her fingers twitching. 

“Does… does it hurt?” The words sound unnatural, like Lorcan has never asked that. 

Elide looks up, “No. Not really. It’s… it’s just sore.” 

Lorcan frowns, glaring at her ankle. Around it, her power slithers, holding it tighter. “You told me the magic helped. Why does it hurt.” 

“You know,” Elide teases, “that’s supposed to be a question.” 

Lorcan glares at her, utterly unimpressed by her avoidance. 

Elide sighs and rolls her eyes, “The brace helps, but… the bones healed improperly. No matter what, it will always hurt a little bit. I hardly notice it anymore.” 

The fierceness eases from her face, but there’s a different anger that fills her gaze. Lorcan studies her ankle and touches it with a gentle finger. “It… hurts most of all here.” The slivers of cool, dry death move to apply more pressure. A slight twinge eases a bit of the stiffness. “And here.” 

She fixes everything she can, and Elide is… it’s far lighter. She smiles and looks up at Lorcan, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Lorcan says, silently looking at Elide. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Because. I want to kiss you.” 

A sly brow arches up, “Really? Is there a… reason you haven’t yet?” Elide tilts closer, “Are you frightened?” 

Lorcan snarls and slides her hand to the side of Elide’s neck, stroking her thumb over the corner of Elide’s jaw. She’s almost… gentle when she kisses Elide. 

The smaller woman grins and grazes Lorcan’s bottom lip with her teeth. She licks into Lorcan’s mouth, slightly out of practice. In her teenage years, she had her fun and filth with the maid girls, or the laundress’ daughter who delivered her sheets. 

At Morath… Manon. But she’s never truly wanted a person as much as Lorcan. 

The demi-Fae cups the back of her head and twists her onto her back, leaning between her legs. She controls it, kisses Elide slow and deep. 

Elide sighs softly and gives in, arching her back into the female above her. Lorcan’s fingertips drag down her spine and her hand grabs Elide’s backside.

Lorcan slides her lips down Elide’s jaw and her canines nearly breaking the skin beneath it. Elide’s gasp is caught in her throat and then Lorcan stops. She lifts her head. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nic.” 

A whip of Lorcan’s magic snaps out and strikes through the heavy tent curtains. There’s a scuffing and the scent of piss and…  _ fear _ , so thick that Elide nearly gags on it. 

Then, a heavy body thumps on the ground. Lorcan slowly rises to her feet, still touching her hand to Elide’s. “He’s dead.”

Elide stands and places her hand on Lorcan’s jaw, turning her face back, “Then it’s done.” 

Lorcan wraps her arms around Elide’s waist and dips her dramatically, catching her lips again. She’s not sure she’ll stop craving the taste and feel of it. 

After a long, lazy moment, Elide tilts her chin away. “We have our own tent. A private tent.” 

Those dark, depthless eyes glitter, “Is that so.” 

“Yes,” she grins. “And, just so I know, is this… a one night tryst for you?” 

“I’m yours for however long you wish.” 

Elide traces her fingertip over the dip in Lorcan’s collarbones, “If I wanted you for longer than one night?” 

“Yes, even then.” 

“Months?” 

“Even then.” 

“Years?” 

“Even then.”

Elide kisses Lorcan once more, “And if I wished for forever?” 

Lorcan thinks for a moment, her lashes brushing against Elide’s high, rosy cheeks. “Especially then.” 


End file.
